Death Imprisoned
by handschuhmaus
Summary: Lorcan D'Eath, the part-vampire heartthrob, is… well, let him narrate the tale. Something of a parody. It'll make more sense if you're familiar with the Discworld, especially the vampire lore, although it's not a crossover fic.


_This is inspired by such diverse sources as _Men at Arms_, _Les Misérables_, and _Night at the Museum 2, _the latter two for incidental inspiration only._ _I don't own any of those, or Lorcan D'Eath. Although hVictor is my creation…_

_I make no apologies for multiple exclamation points… but keep in mind what that indicates and the fact that D'Eath was… thoroughly inebriated at the time…_

_~!~!~!`'!~~!`'!~!~!~_

_One handschuhmaus has added some footnotes and bracketed proofing comments to the manuscript, as well as a vital bit of narrative text._

Yes, yes, he would be a murder… no, no, that wasn't the word at all. Darn those Bartenders who thought that a Bloody Neck was made with horseradish*! Don't they know it's a bloody—no pun intended—psychoactive drug among vampires? And part vampires, _of course_.

Erm… In any case, Lorcan D'Eath was going to be a martyr for the cause! A very martyr! A merry martyr—er, no, actually, that's a bit of an error, it's not as if he's going to die happily, after all!

What cause?

Oh, yes, we need to get around to that.

_We_?

Scratch that, and pronto, please! Another Bloody Neck, if you will, bartender!

Lorcan D'Eath was not heard by the bartender.

Oh, well, that's not important! And it sounds bloody awkward!

All right, the fact was, Lorcan D'Eath was prepared to die—is prepared to die, whatever, for the sake of the great Vampire Lord H'taed. Prepared to kill, prepared to suck blood… although that's really only slightly repulsive to part vampires…

_**Please**_ disregard any similarities the Great Vampire Lord H'tead bears to that Vlodemart fellow… or Voldesmort, or whatever the wizard calls himself. He thinks he's so great, he thinks he's the heir to _Slytherin_—as if that were a wonderful thing, he thinks he's destined to rule over the Muggles.

No bleeping way!

Lord H'tead is the proper ruler of the world, both wizarding and Muggle, both Vampire and mundane.

Why don't wizards capitalize the name of their own world? Just another proof that they have it backwards! We Vampires shall rise, we are in the right!

Ahem.

In any case, Lorcan D'Eath had done some research into a miraculous weapon invented by the mundane folk, whom (who? =|;-D ) [sic] the wizards call Muggles, and had a plot, by which the proper order of the world could be restored.

No man, or wizard, in looking upon the weapon, could remain a self important person who believed anyone but H'tead ought to rule the world.

As a bonus, it displays pretty pictures, which are far more attractive than most groupies.

Truly a world-changing invention!

Lorcan D'Eath calls it mind-reading-and-calculating-device-which-displays-pretty-pictures.

.

.

.

Lorcan D'Eath had come up with this plan in the course of an evening, while out drinking at a wizard pub, over the course of several Bloody Necks, a couple straight vodkas, and, oh, perhaps a few other sugary drinks he didn't recall the name of. He refrained entirely from touching the watermelon—you know the Great Truth about watermelons, as revealed by the Vampires truly loyal to H'taed. **

Oh, yes, he might have had a few glasses of Mur, too, whatever that was. It was apparently made from fermented sugarcane, which might not be something part vampires should drink? [Don't know.] [Note to self: Stop making notations in brackets; proofreader doesn't like.]

But he was not at all drunk, considering that vampires have a superior metabolism, as they are supine in all respects to wizards, and especially muddles.

Lorcan D'Eath is going to get rid of the Minister of Magic so that the true and proper ruler, the great Lord H'Taed can take over. He will use the great Muggle weapon.

Except that apparently some bonzo in Accounting*** had had the whole business declared illegal and made sure that D'Eath was carted off to prison, which is why Lorcan D'Eath is going to be a martyr.

"Mr. Death, your cell."

"It's _D'Eath_," said Lorcan D'Eath. Everyone knows that. Erm.

"Everyone knows that…" he looks at the guard's nametag. BOOM! [It seems Lorcan took a fancy to random onomatopoeic sound effects at this point. No seeming relevance] "Victor."

"My hname is hVictor."

"Yes, Victor." Lorcan D'Eath repeats.

"hVictor."

Another example of why wizards are terribly inferior!

"I will face what's coming to me with pride!"

"It's hVictor. Believe me, 36164."

"Three-six-one-six-four!" sings Lorcan D'Eath.

"You don't know anything, D'Eath. It's hVictor."

The guard****

* * *

"Prisoner number 36164, a Mr. Lorcan D'Eath, please receive your sentence!" the guard, a different one from the previous night, ordered, although said prisoner was unconscious at this time.

The resident psychologist, an owl like persona, looked up from her paperwork and told the judge, "Perhaps I might recommend psychiatric evaluation for Mr. D'Eath. He appears to be an asexual part-vampire,(1) and have megalomaniac delusions…"

The presiding judge sighed, having a private laugh at the report, and said "Mrs. Black(2), Mr. D'Eath went on… what Muggles might refer to as a bad trip, as a result of mixing alcohol and psychoactive drugs. But I think he has learned his lesson. He doesn't normally go around attempting to assassinate the minister with a small computer, does he?"

Minister of Magic Laura Buitwaur, who would serve only a short period at Minister, her position a coincidence similar to that of a certain American Muggle Politician(3), only giggled. She was one of Lorcan D'Eath's innumerable fans.

The judge turned to her and confided, "It's a good thing D'Eath wasn't truly murderous. I mean, one can hardly make possession or consumption of Tabasco sauce illegal without raising undue concern.(4)"

He was returning to the pile of case files before him as he muttered, "But murder by graphing calculator… That's simply genius!" He laughed quietly as the court proceeded.

* * *

Lorcan D'Eath woke with a devil of a headache. "Where exactly am I?" he muttered, although it came out rather garbled.

"His Honor has most graciously allowed you to keep this weapon of attempted murder, even if I think that's a bloody crapshoot and you'll try it again. Now, you've been released; try to keep out of trouble this time!" The guard shoved the graphing calculator into D'Eath's rather cold fingers.

He looked at the calculator

.

.

And all of a sudden, I remembered the previous night—even through the devil of a headache—and vaguely recalled a plot to assassinate Minister—Er, no, it's not Frollo…_or_ Frodo—Buitwaur with a graphing calculator. Must have been induced by the… Oh. I really don't think that bartender had the slightest clue about Bloody Necks. Or how to discern when a vampire is drunk.

The embarrassment. The shame.

Well, perhaps it'll dissuade some of the groupies. I also have to question why I enjoy writing about myself in third person while smashed. Hmmm. Good question for a psychologist…

Ahem. No. Before you ask, my love life, or self imposed lack thereof, is not, under any circumstances, up for psychoanalysis. It is a simple case of packaging.

But that is a tale for another day. Edwards is insisting I go and write something –"Perhaps invent an alternate persona, sir. One that can undertake such wild orgies."—so that I can come out with another "Necks to You." (In retrospect that was probably a rather stupid pun.)

He's quite entirely mistaken, really. I, Lorcan D'Eath, am, in fact, not entirely suited for celebrity.

That, too, is a tale for another day. I must stop.

Farewell, whatever unfortunate soul is reading this.

* * *

*They apparently confused it with a Bloody Mary, which is a Muggle cocktail, containing among other things, tomato juice, Tabasco sauce, lemon juice, vodka, etc. Incidentally, your author is rather fond of doctoring tomato soup with similar additives (horseradish, Tabasco/hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce), sans any alcohol, as she is underage. It is unclear entirely what a Bloody Neck consists of. Further research may be required, although intuition indicates that the cocktail may be most unpalatable to non-vampires.

**What vampires say about watermelons is a truly apocryphal bit of information, although the expression is widely used among the younger crowd. (Parallels to "Who is John Galt?" spring to mind.) It might possibly have something to do with the habit of infusing the fruits with alcohol, perchance?

***Perhaps we trust our accountants too soon. (Or so says this fortune cookie, which may be spouting nonsense. My mother is an accountant.)

**** It seems here that Lorcan fainted.

(1) Need I explain why this might be odd?

(2) Absolutely no relation to the pureblood family, I assure you.

(3) If you insist, her role in this analogy parallels a man by the name of Ford. Do you understand now?

(4) Note that Lorcan's observation on horseradish was made while under the influence.


End file.
